


this title is shit

by triangular



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, I'm not sorry for this, and noncon but you know me lol, but sorry anyway, das right it's a threesome, repost from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3624858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangular/pseuds/triangular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so there's these dudes, right? and they have dicks. and...that's all you need to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this title is shit

You had no idea how you were trapped in an underground cage.

Well, _how_ wasn't exactly the right term, nor _why_. You knew why and how you were there: two dweebs and their bodyguard tackled you while you were walking in the forest and brought you here because they thought you were some sort of shapeshifter. As believable as that sounded.

But, hell, that didn't subside your anger in any amount. You'd been there for hours at this point, stuck sitting on the cold floor with your wrists and ankles tied together while some nerd named Banjoford—no, Fiddleford—ran tests, and the other two, who you determined were brothers, eyed you and talked amongst themselves.

“Ya know, once I get out, I'm calling the cops on your asses,” you hissed.

“Ha! Empty threats don't mean nothin',” the suave Stanford guy called out. His brother Stanley jabbed him with his elbow and reprimanded, “Maybe you're not worried because of your already-tainted track record, but we are! What have you got, Fids?”

“We might be in trouble, fellas. Its ability to replicate the human form makes it indistinguishable as anything but.”

“What does that mean, nerd? It ain't a monster?” Stanford queried.

“Erm, well...yes, I believe so. Seems we made a mistake.”

“Fucking— _see?!_ I told you shitheads I'm human at least fifty times!” You raged, “But does anyone listen to the poor, caged girl? No! Fuck you guys! Let me go!”

“Yeesh, toots, calm your tits,” Stanford rolled his eyes. His brother added, “It was an honest mistake! We accidentally set a shapeshifter loose and...”

“What, wrong place, wrong time? That won't float in court,” you countered. “Especially if you're blaming it on mythical creatures.”

The three men exchanged worried glances (not so much Stanford, who watched you with a smirk). Fiddleford abruptly exclaimed, “Eureka, I have it!”

“What?” Stanley inquired, flickering his gaze between you and the scientist.

“You remember that thing I made after that particularly horrific experiment?”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” the man shuddered.

“I don't,” Fiddleford chuckled. “At least, not the experiment.”

“You should really let us use it, I'd rather forget it, too,” Stanley sighed, lighting up a cigarette.

“Pussies, it's called growing some balls and getting over it,” Stanford jeered, folding his strong arms.

“It's only in its beta phase,” Fiddleford reminded, “I don't want to use it on more people than I must to limit any side effects.”

You raised a curious eyebrow, but it was obvious they weren't going to outright state what they meant. But whatever it was, you knew you weren't going to like it.

“I'll go run over to my place and pick it up, that'll solve our problem!”

For a moment your heart was in your throat. They couldn't be referring to a gun, were they? No—it wouldn't fit contextually, right?

“Brilliant, Fids,” Stanley praised, taking a drag from his cig. His brother agreed, “Yeah, good idea, egghead. We'll keep an eye on her.”

The three of them performed some form of bro-shake before the shortest one went off on his way.

The brothers started to whisper between each other again. That was really starting to annoy you. You could only pick up on one of them saying, “Yeah, we got enough time.”

They finished their conversation with a fist bump and turned to you. His brother puffing away, Stanford asked with a cocky grin, “You got a name, right, babe?”

You grumbled and showed him your two pet birds.

Neither of them seemed fazed. In fact, Stanford's grin only grew more brazen as he approached the cage you were stuck in.

“If you won't tell us your name, we'll give you one,” he stated, “What do you think, bro?”

Stanley took a long drag and fiddled the cig between his fingers. “I don't know, how about 'It'? That name seemed to fare well earlier,” he smirked.

Stanford chortled. “Well, what does It think? Is that a good name?”

“Fuck. You.”

“Haha, then it's decided!” He announced. The other picked up a key off the nearby desk and joined his brother in front of you.

“So,” Stanley began, swinging the key, “Does It want to get out?”

“You know I do!” You barked, “Stop with the games!”

“Oh? And how badly does it want to get out?” He continued.

“Bad enough to risk getting charged with murder,” you spat.

“That attitude isn't getting you anywhere, sweetcheeks,” Stanford remarked, leaning an arm on the cage, “Try being a little more...”

“Compliant,” his brother finished.

“What the fuck is up with you two?!”

“Aw, Stanford, I don't think It wants to leave.”

“Fine!” You shouted. “Fine. I...I'm sorry. _Please_ let me go.” You couldn't believe this bullshit, being hostage to these creeps. Honestly...it was terrifying. It began to sink in that no one would find you in this hidden, underground bunker if you didn't cooperate.

“That's much better. Now, I'll repeat my question: How badly does It want to get out?”

You could feel yourself getting sick, your eyes getting blurry. “Please, I just want to go home. I'll do anything you want, just...don't hurt me.”

The brothers shared triumphant faces. “That's the right answer, toots.”

“What...?”

_Click_. The door to the cage was opened.

You shifted your nervous eyes, slack-jawed. You couldn't exactly move with your ankles tied together, so you were expecting them to untie you.

Stanford picked you up with relative ease and brought you down on the chair Fiddleford had been sitting on prior.

“And...this is the part where you untie me, right?” You naively asked.

He snorted. “It thinks we're going to untie it! How cute.”

Stanley tossed his old cig and lit up a new one. “Sorry, sweetie,” he said, “that's out of the question right now.”

You could feel your pupils dilate. “Don't tell me...”

“Fine, we won't,” Stanford chuckled. “Doesn't mean it's not going to happen.”

“No... _nonono_ ,” you brought your arms close to your chest. “C'mon, I was only kidding about calling the cops. I won't tell anyone.”

He held your chin up. “Trust me, we know you won't.”

Stanford traced his hand down your body to the hem of your top, which he slowly pulled over your head to your bound wrists. You found yourself rendered speechless with watering eyes as he unclasped your brassiere and did the same.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” he said. His brother said nothing, puffing his cigarette and keeping his watchful eyes on you.

“Don't do this,” you croaked, barely holding on to your voice. “I'm not cute, I'm not sexy, you don't want me.”

He stood you up to start tugging at your pants. “Don't be so modest, baby,” he cooed.

Your knees were shaking as your pants, followed by your panties, fell to your ankles. If only you had use of your arms and legs, you'd be able to put up a fight. Though, honestly, as you noted their strong arms and the way they tackled you earlier, you knew you wouldn't have a chance.

Stanley closed in on you as well and forcefully bent you over to extinguish his cigarette on your ass. You screamed in scorching pain, tears falling from your eyes.

“ _Fffuck!_ You bastard!”

You received a sharp slap on your rump by his large hand. “It won't complain if It doesn't want to get punished.”

“Hey, let me give that a go,” Stanford said, shifting your body so your rear faced him and giving an even harder slap to the other cheek. “Heh, yeah, that's _nice_ ,” he said with spine-tingling hunger in his voice. As he pulled you close so that his clothed groin rubbed against your no-longer-private zone, you attempted to focus your bleary eyes on the floor. _Jesus fucking Christ..._

You felt something touch your head and looked up to find Stanley's hardened member staring you down. A lump too thick to swallow was caught in your throat. “If it knows what's good, that mouth will open.” He tensely added, “And don't even _think_ about biting.”

Sniffling, you parted quivering lips and tried not to gag as he shoved his entire cock into your mouth. As much as his mouth-fucking made you nauseous, the feeling of Stanford's now-unsheathed dick prodding your folds almost sent you over the edge into Pukesville.

You whimpered and attempted to say something in protest, but all you made were gargled vibrations that brought out a groan from Stanley, who gripped firmly onto your hair.

Stanford grabbed onto your ass and forced his way inside of you with a grunt, his animalistic, powerful thrusts hurting more than anything. All you could think of was the shame they were bringing upon you, dehumanizing you into some sex toy. God...you were ruined.

You tried to shut your eyes and rationalize the situation—that you were only in a terrible nightmare—but the sounds of their heavy breathing and their dog-like humping made it hard to focus on anything but your humiliation.

It was too long before their breathing grew more ragged as they became closer to their peak. The first to go was Stanley, his hot cum seeping into your mouth. You were planning to spit it all out when he pulled out, but as he did, he demanded in a low tone, “It'll swallow if It doesn't want to get slapped.” 

Fuck, you hated to admit that some sick part of you was secretly enjoying it, and his attractive, sultry tone wasn't helping. You obeyed, but mostly because you didn't want a red mark across your face, letting out a shaky gasp. He seemed satisfied and gently stroked your hair before fixing his trousers.

Next was Stanford; between his grunts he was muttering things like “shit” and “fuck,” his stamina clearly reaching its end. His thrusts became less rhythmic and more desperate, pounding to the hilt. You were pretty sure he tore something inside of you earlier, but by now the pain was transitioning to embarrassing pleasure. You accidentally let slip a moan, to which Stanley laughed and said, “I think It is finally enjoying itself.”

God damn these men.

With a few final pumps, Stanford shot his cum inside of you with a deep groan. Not only were you mortified for obvious reasons, but your hopes of them being done with you and you finally being let go were crushed when they merely sat you back onto the chair and (after Stanford stuffed himself back in his pants) shared a fistbump, your face still wet from tears.

“Think we can convince Nerdtron to let us keep It?” Stanford asked, his breathing slowly fixing itself.

“I don't think so. You can ask Fiddleford when he gets back,” his brother answered.

“Ask Fiddleford what?” said scientist queried as he entered the bunker. “I got the—” he quickly noticed you and your condition. “Gee, what have you fellas done?” He said in exasperation.

You were relieved. He was going to be the voice of reason and help you. The hope had you find yourself with a weak smile on your face.

“Shit,” Stanford remarked.

“I, uh...we can explain,” Stanley insisted.

Fiddleford shook his head and approached you, placing some scary, strange-looking gun on the desk next to you. He cupped your cheek and uttered, “I mean, really... You couldn't wait for me?”

Your smile dropped.

_Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i took some liberties hither thither, but it was for the sake of plot. fuck it.


End file.
